So different from her Dima.
“Let me show you,” she whispered against Paul’s distended cheek. She kissed him there, feeling Dima’s defined bulk just underneath.
Paul slipped off and nodded, but he didn’t back out of the way. He stayed close enough to kiss. Lizzie grinned and did so, before taking Dima in her mouth, relishing the close shift from lips to cock. Back and forth. She could trade off with them all day. All night.
That she already tasted Dima’s salty precome said he was a lot closer than she’d expected. Paul—winning him like this—was probably doing fantastic things to her partner’s libido. Power and sexuality.
With that thought came a surprising rush of possessiveness. She wanted to make an impression on Dima. One that had nothing to do with their profession, their long years together, or the hasty, unfair words she’d lobbed at him that morning.
“Relax your throat,” she said to Paul. “Keep this angle so you can take it deep.”
She returned to Dima’s cock and sucked him into her mouth. Paul had already juiced the thick, veined shaft, so it was an easy thing to slide all the way to the hilt. Dima hissed and his hips surged. Paul grabbed the back of her head, holding her there, until she couldn’t think beyond the way her mouth, her throat, filled and stretched. Deeper still. Tears watered, and saliva dripped from one corner of her mouth.
“Fuck,” Dima groaned before yanking them both away. A manic darkness clouded his eyes. “So good.”
She smiled past a surprising blush and wiped her mouth. Satisfied at having made that strong impression, and having earned the reward of his praise, she needed to bring Paul back in. Paul kept it from being a power play—kept it just plain play. “Your turn. Think you can deep throat our Dima?”
“Why go in by halves, eh?”
With a sure grin, Paul changed positions. Taking a gratifying degree of initiative in his own pleasure, he spread Dima’s legs and settled between them on all fours. His hands braced on both of Dima’s hips, pinning her partner to the mattress. Lizzie hid a flicker of amusement when Dima looked ready to protest. Only briefly. Then he seemed to settle in for the ride. Good. He was too tightly strung to be in charge all the time.
She wanted him to learn that, to trust that.
Paul sucked him just as she’d demonstrated. Sure and strong all the way down. Slow and lingering all the way up. The contest between those toned male bodies was told in grunts, sharp breaths, but even more so in the little ripples of tight tendons and bunched muscles. Paul’s forearms and triceps stood out in relief as he gripped Dima’s lean hips. Every ounce of passionate expectation was shown in the squeeze and flex of his cut abs.
That Paul could take charge did gorgeous things to Lizzie’s arousal. She was watching gladiators in a sweaty duel—if gladiators face-fucked one another. Smiling fully, she sat back and admired Paul’s technique, playing with her nipples. Sure enough, Dima’s entire shaft disappeared each time. He seemed torn between watching her hands at work on her breasts and Paul as he swallowed cock like a goddamn pro.
She wiggled behind Paul, draped lightly across his back and held his head down. Fully down. At first he seemed ready to fight that pressure. Only he wasn’t the man she was used to knowing. Paul inhaled through his nose. Every muscle relaxed as he settled in, with Dima’s prick tucked down his throat. He groaned, and Dima answered with a growled curse of his own.
She met Dima’s eyes again, barely recognizing the look she found. Heavy-lidded. Needy. Vulnerable. That wasn’t him at all. Yet there he was, prostrate and restrained by the most erotic hold.
“Paul wants to take us to breakfast,” she said conversationally. Silent laughter bowed Paul’s back beneath her body. She released her hold only long enough for him to catch his breath and dive back in. He returned to that deep, deep swallow. “What do you say, Dima? You up for something naughty this morning?”
“Yes,” he gritted. She saw why, as Paul used his construction worker’s hands to separate Dima’s firm ass cheeks. Such a defenseless position for a man to be in, spread that way, knees fanned out to either side. Only the sure two-handed grip Dima maintained at the base of Paul’s skull proved he wasn’t entirely a passive performer in this bit of erotic theater.
Lizzie crawled up Paul’s body, her breasts flush against his arched back. She worked her hands down his chest and flat, rock-hard tummy until she reached his fly. Opened it. Slipped her fingers inside to free his straining, throbbing dick.
“You could fuck him, you know,” she whispered. “Dima would love to be your first. He’d take it as a compliment.”